


Oil & Vinegar Tits

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fridget, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Season/Series 04, not a threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Exploring what happened when Franky stormed out during 4x2 “Poking Spiders”Okay, you caught me. It’s just an excuse for make-up sex.





	Oil & Vinegar Tits

 

 

* * *

 

One word frees us of all the weight and pain in life. That word is love.--Sophocles

 

* * *

 

It was late. Bridget checked the clock again and it was a minute later than the last time she checked it. Sighing, she picked up her phone and scrolled to the last message.

_I need some time._

It was the only reply to her ten messages asking how and where Franky was. She’d been MIA for most of the day and Bridget was beside herself with worry. Like most things with Franky, there was little warning, just some angry words before Franky stormed out.

It had only been a few hours since she’d fallen out of touch but it might as well have been a million years for how desperately Bridget missed her. Even when she was in Wentworth and Bridget could only see her sparingly, she still saw her. Now, she had the whole world to disappear into and given the last time they saw each other, Bridget wasn’t hopeful for a resolution anytime soon.

Bridget sighed and turned on the kettle. She sat at the breakfast bar and waited the interminable minute for the water to boil before pouring it over a tea bag and into her mug. Sitting on a stool, she dunked the tea bag repeatedly.

Two lumps of sugar and a dash of milk and she was stirring her cuppa with care. She looked at the other mug on the counter, the one she’d taken out of the cabinet compulsively when she reached for hers, and shook her head.

“Franky, where are you?” She sighed again and, holding the mug with both hands, sipped from it.

It wasn’t that she was worried about her physical safety because Franky Doyle could surely take care of herself in that way, but she worried that Franky might do something she couldn’t take back. She was a rash individual and that was one of things Bridget loved most--her unpredictability. After all, Bridget found life quite boring with other lovers, there was something comforting about knowing what her partner would do next but it also left for a love life with little imagination.

But not with Franky. No, she was everywhere, bouncing off the walls like a racquetball in Bridget’s life and she fucking loved it. Bridget felt alive again, infused by Franky’s youth and vigor in their free life together. They were an odd couple to some looking in, but Bridget felt like she’d found the antidote to what was ailing her prior to Franky door-crashing her lonely life.

And then there was the way she loved: tentative at first, then bolder than any lover that came before her. She was not always open to Bridget’s affections but she was learning to accept them. It was a side effect of her childhood, and they were working through it together. However, under the right circumstances, Franky’s love shone like a ten-million-watt bulb.

And Franky was conscientious despite not having to be for so long and the way she made love to Bridget was something she never had experienced before. In the past, Franky used sex for so long as a release, to let off steam but never to be close to the other person. She wasn’t sure if it was a byproduct of prison life or the maladaptive way she’d developed into relationships, but she no longer simply fucked to get herself off, she coveted Bridget’s body.

It was something that was apparent from the start. They were pure fuel and flame, exploding the first time they came together, hungry and uncontrolled. Gradually over time, the fire did not diminish, however it did change. Bridget’s eyes opened, no longer squeezed shut in concentration of another person or another time, Franky’s hands caressed her skin rather than merely touching her, and it all wasn’t just requisite preamble to her own orgasm anymore.

What Bridget would have given to have Franky walk through her front door, kiss her tenderly, and take her to bed. They could make love or Franky could simply hold her, they didn’t have to talk, but Bridget just wanted to wrap her up and hold on tight.

 

* * *

 

Under the watchful eye of the Wentworth security cameras, Franky Doyle sat in the carpark. She’d been driving around since she left Bridget’s after lunch and all roads seemed to lead back to Wentworth.

She peered toward walls topped festively with barbed wire and wondered if the cell block still sounded like a cavern when the inmates were all in their beds or if the shower still smelled off first thing in the morning. She thought about her friends--her family--sleeping on those hideously uncomfortable mattresses and how she’d moved on to Bridget’s bed. But not tonight. Oh, how she wished she were cuddled up next to the blonde-haired, blue-eyed beauty instead of thinking about all the shitty things she’d ever done while on the inside in her car under twenty-four-hour video surveillance.

She left in a huff, angry at Bridget for defending Vinegar Tits. The very fact that she could be friends with her was bad enough, but she copped the blame for her and it pissed Franky off. Vinegar Tits may be Governor of Wentworth but Franky Doyle wasn’t beholden to her anymore. She was as free as parole let her be (which wasn’t really all that free) and she wanted to be with Bridget. More importantly, she wanted to be left alone with Bridget.

Her phone buzzed again. Her fingers drummed on the steering wheel before reaching into her jacket for the mobile.

_Franky, please don’t shut me out._

Her cheeks puffed out as she exhaled. It was hard to ignore Bridget, it didn’t feel right at all, but she was trying to stand on her own and she had to get herself sorted before she returned to her lover.

 

* * *

 

Staring into her refrigerator, Bridget groaned. Franky had made a pan of lasagna that was meant to be their dinner the night before and it was still taking up half the cooler. She wavered momentarily before turning on the oven--Franky wouldn’t want it to go bad--having no idea she’d be hosting the most awkward impromptu dinner party later that evening.

Vera and Franky were like oil and vinegar (tits) but when they both showed up on her doorstep Bridget was determined to have a pleasant meal. Vera was tense and Franky remained amused by her ability to unnerve Vera, going out of her way to make her uncomfortable. There was a strange symmetry to the way Bridget, Vera, and Franky had come together over the verbal abuse charge to their unusual anti-Ferguson alliance. And even though Franky tested some very real boundaries, she had insight that neither Bridget nor Vera had.

After Vera’d gone and Franky had put the leftovers away, Bridget waited for her on the lounge watching the nightly news. The news was a distraction that wasn’t working for the blonde so she shut it off abruptly, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. She kicked her shoes off and put her feet up underneath her, swirling the wine in her glass casually.

Franky peered at her over the breakfast bar, as if keeping the barrier between them would shield her from the hard conversation they needed to have.

“Come sit with me,” Bridget smiled warmly, patting the lounge cushion beside her.

Franky dried her hands and tossed the towel on the counter, walking slowly around the counter into the sitting room. She plopped down beside Bridget who chuckled at being jostled.

“Hey.” She smiled at Bridget.

“Hey.” Bridget smiled back.

“I missed you today.” Franky propped her head up on a hand, elbow leaning on the back of the lounge.

“I missed you, too.” Bridget inhaled deeply, enjoying the quiet and Franky’s nearness. “I wish you wouldn’t do that in the future, though.”

Franky nodded. “Life just got a little noisy.”

“I can understand that.”

Franky shook her head and smiled.. “I love ya, Gidge. I did a lot of thinking and I kept coming back to that. I love ya.”

Bridget laughed self-consciously. “Well, I’m glad.”

Franky reached out and brushed a hair from Bridget’s forehead. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“You know you don’t have to ask.” Bridget put her hand on Franky’s thigh.

“Trying something new,” she said placing her hand on top of Bridget’s.

Bridget nodded with a knowing smile. “Mmm,” she hummed. “Shall we?” She asked with raised eyebrows.

Franky hopped up and extended a hand to Bridget. “Take me to bed, Gidge.”

Standing, she melted into Franky’s side, whose long arms wrapped Bridget up in her embrace. It was a moment of unadulterated comfort, chaste and pure and Bridget couldn’t help the satisfied sigh that slipped from her lips.

They lumbered down the hall locked together, Franky’s arms wrapped around her from behind as they walked. When they crossed the threshold to the bedroom, Bridget turned in her arms, taking Franky’s cheeks in her hands, and kissing her softly.

They swayed there next to the bed, Bridget’s arms slipping up Franky’s neck and hugging her, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, lips to lips. Franky held her waist, eyes closed, obviously enjoying her closeness.

“I was worried about you,” Bridget’s voice was quiet in the even quieter room.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Gidge. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can.” She wasn’t taking the piss, she was serious.

When Bridget slipped away, Franky’s hands instinctively chased her, coming up empty this time. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched Bridget undress. Her sweater was discarded delicately onto the floor, but when Franky’s hands grew restless, she pulled at the button on Bridget’s temptingly-too-tight pants. Bridget smiled as she set Franky’s hands aside and unfastened the button and zipper herself. She shimmied out of her pants before walking to stand between Franky’s legs.

Hands on Bridget’s hips, Franky smiled up at her, standing proudly in her bra and panties. “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Gidge.”

Bridget’s eyes closed as she grinned. Reaching out, she pulled Franky’s sweater up from her waist, and Franky lifted her arms to assist. Franky shook her head, tussling her hair as her head popped free of the sweater, the colorful artwork on her skin blazing like a fire against crisp, white cotton sheets. Bridget pushed her back, straddling her hips, she placed her hand on Franky’s shoulder, and reaching between their bodies, she unfastened Franky’s jeans.

Franky’s hands reached for her face, guiding Bridget’s mouth to her own. It was a soft kiss with intention, a coal thrown into their inferno. Backing away, Bridget pulled Franky’s pants off her hips and down her legs, throwing them on the floor with the rest. When she returned, she did so with a gusto, laying on top of Franky, and kissing her again.

Grabbing her rear, Franky held Bridget against herself as she flipped her onto her back. Bridget laughed, she loved how playful Franky was in the bedroom. It was refreshing and to be honest, it had been a long time since Bridget had any fun in the bedroom prior to Franky.

Craning her neck as Franky’s mouth moved from her throat.to her bare shoulder, Bridget sighed happily. She never dreamed it could be like this--especially not with Franky. Sure, she thought, a hot and heavy hands-on affair was definitely a possibility, but the level of trust and love that Franky showed her was remarkable. It had gone far beyond anything she could have hoped for, so much so that Bridget didn’t know how she’d never predicted this outcome.

Franky took her time, lavishly loving her--it was as much for Bridget’s benefit as it was for her own--and when Bridget came it was unexpected and delicious, but her hunger for Franky was only burgeoning. She was on top again, hand between their bodies, grinding against Franky as she watched her keenly, Franky chewing her bottom lip in concentration, tongue sweeping out occasionally. She held Bridget’s hips as the blonde moved against her.

Between kisses, Bridget watched the younger woman’s expressions change, becoming more intense until her hands could only squeeze Bridget’s waist as her hips moved against her. She smiled again as she withdrew her hand and collapsed beside Franky.

Like a daydream, they were together again, though never truly apart, and Bridget was overcome with the beauty of the moment. She brushed the bangs away from Franky’s forehead and her green eyes opened, shining with appreciation and love.

“I love you, Franky Doyle.” Her lips brushed Franky’s temple as she spoke.

“Gidge?” She asked to the ceiling

“Yeah, baby?” Bridget’s voice was gentle.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Bridget asked, already knowing the answer.

“For loving me back.”


End file.
